


Mother (in rework status)

by LaughingMcNugget



Series: Mother [1]
Category: Fallout - Fandom, Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fallout, F/F, F/M, Not Canon Compliant, Other, i'm just leaving it up as a reference for my first fic, this isnt even relevant to the story anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-15 07:40:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5777215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughingMcNugget/pseuds/LaughingMcNugget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through mankinds twisted ways, death has been cheated and the son becomes the Father. The Mother is reborn in a green glow, and carries the title of Survivor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Creation of a matron

Chapter One, The Creation of a Matron

“What is the most devoted, the most driven, the most passionate type of person, Doctor Li?” Father’s voice was like sharp ice as he spoke, all cold calculations and glaring opinions.  
Doctor Li looked up from her terminal, eyes a bit watery at the concept of what her fingers were doing as they typed “I don’t know, Father.”  
The Institute head folded his hands behind his back as he glared into the stasis pod “A desperate mother.”  
He looked in the pod with pointed approval, letting himself assess the quality of their work first hand “It does look like my mother, doesn’t it?”  
As per his orders, the corpse of Father’s true mother was stripped down to the bone; her skeleton used to create a cast and ensure the synth would look the way it remembered, but be built of something so much stronger than mere bone. Even with meticulous building of layer upon layer of flesh, it would produce something that looked unlike his mother without exact bone measurements. However, this one would be built perfectly. X0-69 was built to be the Courser Captain; a machine so deeply wound in the shadows that even it would be unaware of its true nature until protocol kicked in. A tact involing trust to more humanely draw escaped synths back. In father’s eyes, it was the perfect machine; built strong, smart, and unknowingly devious. He had to admit to himself that he was nervous about unleashing it into the world, as this one had been built different, it had been designed to feel. It had to feel, its drive would be emotion and that made it his most deadly weapon. However, it was human in the complexity of its neural arrangement, and the unknown quantity of human nature made it a step into dangerous territory. Humans were petty, and fickle, humans were able to think, to dream, to exist as their own entity. By giving this machine the ability to feel, he had delved into the slave taboo that had been rising like steam off a boiling pot and spreading throughout the Institute. This machine (and by extension all others like it), by all accounts, would be human. Father knew the risks, he'd lost many nights sleep contemplating them, and as he placed his hand on the frosted, dully glowing chamber X0-69 floated in, he felt apprehension swell in his chest. He felt the need to touch her-its hand, maybe to find some sort of parental comfort in that. It was, almost, his mother, and it was right there. He had no memory of seeing his true mother aside from the frost covered corpse that was photographed for reference only minutes before slicing the flesh away. He had to admit to himself, his mother looked kind, a bit rough, but kind. It broke his heart a little bit knowing that they would send something that could feel out into the harsh wastes. Especially his prized creation; the synth built to be human, and the successor to his title. His blue eyes iced over. Shame on him for such meaningless emotions, other matters of importance held themselves over his head and he had no time for petty wishing.  
“Has doctor Amari reported in? I expected her sooner.” Father never sounded impatient, it was below him to do such.  
He did allow himself an air of pointedness that struck fear and respect into the hearts of his creations and his underlings alike.The tone he used now.  
Doctor Li gulped softly, tapping into her terminal “It looks like she’s still in the elevator. Monitoring unit M7-07 says she stopped to talk with one of the Coursers, and congratulated him on another humane capture.”  
She tapped a few more keys, drawing out an ‘um’ as she pinpointed her ETA.  
“M7-04 just reported her exiting the elevator, she will be here momentarily.”  
As though Li had spoken words of old magic, Amari stepped through hissing doors and greeted them curtly.  
“Hello Doctors, I assume this project is ready for me to put the finishing touches on?” Amari was always short with them, it protected her from seeming to be attached to the synths.  
Had they known her true intentions with the synths, they would have never let her step foot in the Institute again. It was mutually beneficial that distrust ran deep and calm between the doctors. Father gesticulated with a subtle sweep of his hand to the set of stasis pods that dimly glowed in the stark laboratory. In one, a preserved and still functioning brain, in the other, a blank slate of a synthetic human. Doctor Amari made a painful attempt to not stare at the corpses of mutants floating in the adjasent tanks. She failed in the end, and settled for getting straight to work. Hesitantly, Amari sidled up beside Li and they both twittered over the finer points of programming such an extensive personality into a synth. She looked over the years worth of data that would have to be translated and processed. Doctor Amari tugged at her collar, the weight of such a deeply diverse entity being programmed almost overwhelming her.  
“This process will take at least two weeks to complete, DNA doesn’t transfer data quickly.” Amari huffed.  
Li seemed to share her sentiment as she looked over at their experiment “If X0-69 can fully and seamlessly integrate into society, then we can work on repopulating human kind with strong and non-irradiated genes. It is imparative that it has a proper backstory linked in. We are prepared to wait.”  
Li was a skilled liar.  
With a nod of approval, Amari pressed a single button, and the pods began to glow brighter. The expense of energy that a data transfer like this cost was massive, and tapped dangerously into their input of power. Father noted the dimming lights overhead and quickly paced to the intercom. A light fist pressed the matte black button in, and Father’s voice rang out, slightly garbled, over the speaker system.  
“All active synths are to report to the storage bay and await further instruction.”  
Father released the button and looked at his personal monitoring device: noting the way the blips that represented synths moved in flocks as they headed to the storage bay. Unusual behavior, must have been coincidence. No anomalies stuck out, just synths moving in units.  
“Father.” Amari called over the whirring of the terminal “You should see the way her memories are interfacing. Its quite efficient. According to this program, she will move at least .5 percent faster than originally guessed.”  
A bit of familial pride blossomed in his chest, his mother would show signs of being naturally more advanced. It made sense that the more qualified of his parents should get a second chance. The thought made him almost loathe his father, the man who’d taken up binge drinking shortly after returning from war. He’d be nearly as old as his father was, physically, and he’d not wasted his breath and time on physical training or excessive consumption. His mind was his weapon and it had gotten him farther than any soldier could have dreamed. He was like his mother, smart and full of potential. The synth carrying her memories would take good care of his establishment when he was gone. It deserved that much faith at least.  
“We chose a fine specimen for our test subject, it will prove useful if all goes according to plan.” Father was still sharp with the other doctor.  
Amari had long since grown accustomed to the icy tones that the young man seemed to never run short of, so she paid little mind aside from a nod of her head.  
Doctor Li had separated herself from the terminal and approached the stasis pod. The synth, the woman, inside of it was twitching every so often; most likely living the dead woman’s memories at a frightening pace. Li placed her hand on the glass, and found the ice around her touch melted and dripped slowly down the panel. Li was cynical to say the least, and the morbid humor of dying in a sub 0 cryo-vault and then being reanimated, in a new body while in similar conditions, was not lost on her. It was almost a cosmic realigning, nothing more than a fateful balance; as she held no deity responsible for the destruction of the overworld. How strange that the mother would become the daughter, and the son the Father. Li removed her hand from the frosty glass, nerves on her palm tingling. She watched the melted drops of condensation weave and sway like lazy lines of irradiated haze in the breeze. She pondered why she made that correlation for a moment, as she almost never thought back on the time she'd spent on the surface;  with the Brotherhood of Steel, the brutes. Such small drops took unpredictable turns as they dripped. Yet they froze all the same after a short period. Something about watching them drip like blood and freeze like death made the Doctor uncomfortable. They looked too alive as they moved against the thrumm and glow of the machine. Watching the drops still sent something of a shiver down her spine. Had she believed in entities of divinity, that would have felt like a dark omen burning like coals into wood. Turning away, Li tried to cut the festering flesh of doubt from her body. This was what playing god felt like; terrifying.  
Father’s voice broke in weak blurbs over the intercom system, some words lost in the drained power as he did. But the words “Recall code Oblivion” echoed through the facility.  
He watched the blips of synthetic life flicker from his device’s screen. All at once, the loading bay was dark. Father turned to face the other two specialists, a sharp pivot exuding almost military like cut as he did.  
“You should prepare to depart, Doctor Amari. We will be locking down and diverting most of the power to X0-69’s transfer and away from all but emergency systems. That means you’d be stuck here, and I’d hate to remove you from your surface duties.”  
As much as the man disagreed with the fact that Amari left after each session with them, he couldn’t help but respect the work she did. She was an expert in the fields of Phycology and Neurology. That much deserved his respect.  
“Thank you, I know the way. I wish well for your current project; she seems promising.”  
With those final words, Doctor Amari strode out of the room, doors sluggishly hissing closed behind her as they used the bare minimum to move their motors.  
Father was staring at it, just watching the likeness of his mother float and look slightly pained as the memories flooded it. The synth looked like it would have been an energetic mother, something about the chubbiness of her cheeks giving her a youthful air. He thought about the hard pressed lines on his older synthetic models, and wondered if people would have accepted the others more easily had they looked so… friendly. The fact that humanity could be swayed by looks alone was encouraging, and the synth looked like a human popped out of a pre war magazine.  
“My mother served as a good base. Have the head of bioscience press a few more molds from her, she will be the base for a new line of infiltrators.”  
Father placed his hand on the glass, heedless of the chill it sent up his thin fingers “Wipe all of the records for her. But her recall code. The harder she is to trace-“ he hesitated, a hair’s width of anxiety pricking under the icy demeanor “-The harder she is to trace, the better.” 


	2. Power restored

Lights. Finally.  
Father had hated the 2 weeks it took to transfer data, as it meant the lights had to be dimmed to only the emergency railing and for fuc- _Father_ _does not curse-_ for goodness sakes, he’d stubbed his toe on at least 5 desks while stumbling around nearly blind. Never before did the Institute head consider desks a form of weaponry, but after seeing the way one had half peeled back the nail on his little toe, he reconsidered. Thankfully, it was over; the data had transferred flawlessly, and the lights could, finally, be turned back on. Father wandered pleasantly though the pristine environment, back straight and hands loosely clasped behind his back. The glaring lights on the stark white surfaces made him have to squint the slightest bit, but it was no worse than stumbling into a dam- _a desk_. No worse than stumbling into a desk. The synths were almost buzzing as they fussed about the grounds, cleaning the environment and tending to their humans. A small collection of female coursers draped their arms over a table as they sat and chatted, food supplements shared between them. One saw Father passing by, and greeted him “Good afternoon, sir. I trust your day has been pleasant so far?” its tone was monotonous, but it smiled gently at him.  
Father stopped for a moment and set his hand on the courser’s back “You as well, M1-55. Indeed it has been. Please do carry on.”  
He pat the synth on it’s back and withdrew, nodding once before clasping his hands and beginning his slow walk again. The entrance to the bioscience division glowed ahead and a sect of new generation 3 synths, modeled after the neural processes of Mother, waited beside the door. A courser lead them, female by genetics, pristine white suit and shining silver shades on its face contrasting sharply with its dark skin. Father looked over the courser, knowing this one’s reputation. L4-55 was its designation, and it had a tendency to be a little bit rougher than needed while in the field. A recent reset, however, seemed to cure it of the unintentional bloodlust. The SRB approved of the white suits on the newer courser models, it made them look less threatening; which usually made for an easier reclamation. Any way to reduce casualties was right in Father’s mind. Father nodded to the collection of 11 units, and turned to face the door. With a quiet ‘shush’ the door panels retreated into the walls. Calm footsteps were drowned out by the clicking of nervous boots on the hard tiles as the sect filtered in behind him. The gaggle of synths followed behind Father like ducklings, each prodding and slightly bumping into each other in a effort to be the closest to their creator. L4-55 seemed to be very friendly with them, even submissive at times, perhaps she would have to be restored with an earlier save of her consciousness. Coursers were for hunting, not socialization. Father stopped briskly at a security grid, the laser barrier humming gently as he peered down at the activation console. Deft fingers clacked across the keyboard, and the laser grid fizzled from existence. Father, followed by the collection of synths, headed into the chambers that the synth named Mother was growing in. It was to the distaste of them all that the lab was the remnants of the FEV lab, and as such had some of the dents and scratches still in the walls. It was clean though, and the synths exchanged little twitters between themselves about the ‘FEV stink’ being scrubbed out of the walls by the old gen 1’s.  
“Do stay close, units. This lab has a few places that you could get hurt.” Father barely finished his first sentence when he felt the slight push of bodies against his shoulders and back.  
The synths had formed a double line behind him. 5 rows of strapping, white clad soldier synths, tailed off by the tall and strong Courser. One of the two in the front had placed a hand on his shoulder, acknowledging his request and affirming that they had prepared to do as such. The synths had their right hand on the right shoulder of the synth in front of them, linking them like a preschool chain after a teacher. Father shrugged the hand off his shoulder when he heard the synths snickering to themselves.  
“Very funny, put please, do be mindful.” The Institute head furrowed his brow, the strange complexities of his newest synth prototype lost in the wake of the joke they had pulled on him.  
The synths responded in unison “Yes, Father.”  
They all but marched behind him, past the assaultron, and into the glowing FEV stasis lab. Two hideously deformed scientists floated lifelessly in the tubes, and one stood awake, tapping very delicately on a terminal.  
“Hello Father. I was just checking on her vitals.” The mutant said in a deep but pleasant voice.  
Father regarded his mutated scientist, Virgil, blankly “ _Its_. This synth is a machine.” Even if it looks just like my mother.  
Virgil nodded his bulbous green head, the undersized glasses teetering on his swollen nose and cheeks “Of course. Anyways, sir, she- _it_ is ready to be woken up.”  
With a nod, Father strode to stand beside the mutant, a hand resting on the clear case covering a large red button. The case was flipped up with a practiced flick of the wrist, and a heavy hand pressed the button into its housing. The button emitted a faint glow, and the terminal it resided on buzzed in warning.  
“Warning: draining in process. Please stand clear of all drainage pipes for the risk of exposure to disease.” The droning, automatic voice mused over the speakers as the nearly frozen green liquid started to ooze from the chamber.  
Mother’s body slowly started to bend on itself as the tips of its toes touched the bottom of the tank, no longer floating. It folded backwards, knees on the floor and back bent awkwardly until the back of its head rested on the glass. Its arms limp and dangling by its side. As soon as the chamber had drained, the glass lifted up into the ceiling, and Mother began to fall. The a synth at the front of the line darted forward and held the new synth up by the shoulders.  
“I did not order you to do that.” Father said sternly.  
The Courser at the back of the line stepped forward and faced Father “We must protect the future of the Institute, Father. Please forgive them, they did not want to see your heir injured.”  
Father cocked an eyebrow at the Courser, the unusual meekness did not suit this model, however, it made a good point “Of course.”  
The synth holding Mother, male by design, straightened up and tried to steady the groggy and frigid body on its feet. Father almost laughed on the inside, only allowing a flicker of humor to cross his icy eyes 'I _ts so short. She looks not a day past 20.'_  
Mother's legs began to wobble, and the synth wrapped an arm around Mother’s chest and pinned her to its own. The new synth was vaguely aware that it was suddenly swung around and held very close to someone.  
_Nate loves to dance_.  
“We're dancing?” Mother said, bubbles of goo pouring from its mouth as it did.  
Even with the muffling bubbles, the tone was friendly. Bleary brown eyes blinked goo away, and saw, very indistinctly, the shapes of a small group of people.  
_Where am I?_  
The new synth bobbled its head from side to side, a low groan in its throat. It looked warily around the room until its gaze landed on something, a trash pail. It took a stumbling and slippery step forward from whoever was holding it, bracing itself on the edge of a desk, before kneeling and grabbing the pail. The synth coughed up green goo, tears on its face as it did. The collection of synths, including the Courser took tentative steps towards Mother, the same male daring a hand on Mother's back. The new synth jumped at the contact, and whipped its head around, strands of goo flinging from its loud red hair. Mother wiped its mouth with the bare back of its hand. It looked down at itself and realized the rest of it was bare as well.  
“Why-“ it spoke hesitantly, the taste of green goo and the feel of unused lungs strange on the lips “-am I naked?”  
A stifled round of giggles passed through the sect, all of them politely not staring at Mother’s assets and giving the new one some space. The Courser popped the jacket off its back, then turned its head to look at Father through sharp silver shades. Father nodded at the Courser, a hand extending and discreetly gesticulating towards Mother.  
“Take this.” The Courser was uncharacteristically gentle as it knelt beside the trembling and goo covered Mother.  
Mother looked warily at the Courser, before smiling an unpracticed smile at the stranger.  
“I don’t know you.”  
The courser kept its face deadpan, gently holding onto one of Mother’s arms and sliding the sleeve over Mother’s wrist “I am not an enemy.”  
A wary expression was still plastered over the cold synth, but it was in no position to be picky.  
“I believe you.”  
The new synth took the task upon itself to slide the other sleeve on, and zip the jacket up over its exposed flesh.  
The Courser nodded sharply, and grabbed Mother firmly by the shoulder. Mother found itself being hauled up into a wobbly stand, and was thankful for the assist. At this time, Father stepped through the gaggle of curiously fawning synths, making eye contact with Mother. As if it had been recalled, Mother froze, eyes locked and body trembling.  
“Baby.”  
Father was uneasy with the stare of his creation looking so longingly at him.  
“My baby.”  
Father nodded, it was all he could think to do. This was, by almost all logic, his mother.  
Mother took a step forward, and placed a chilly hand on Father’s cheek.  
“Shaun. You're…” the words tumbled around in Mother’s mind “You’re all big. Why?”  
Father, Shaun, felt his eyes prickle with tears “X0-69 recall code Oblivion.”  
Mother slumped over, still being held up by the Courser’s hand on their shoulder. Its hand fell limply from Father’s cheek.  
“I’m sending you all out on patrol to scout the area and escort her to vault 111. When she is there, place her in the proper cryopod and report back.” Father’s hands were about his eyes, scrubbing at the tears he would not allow to happen “M7-90’s, report to the surface. L4-55, take Mother to be dressed in the vault suit and collect arms for her. Be sure to make the placement believable.”  
The M7-90 set droned out “Yes, Father” and began a loose march towards the teleportation bay.  
L4-55 looped Mother’s arm over its shoulder and began the long and laborious walk towards the medical station where Mother’s things had been stored.  
Father watched the Courser drag Mother away, and felt sadness in his heart. She-it-looked so flimsy and flubbery against L4-55’s strong frame. How would it survive the Commonwealth?

 


	3. Basic care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L4 shows the depth of its glitching in the form of bouncing between emotions. Also accidental lesbians yay. Fluff chapter.

L4-55 trudged along the steps towards the medical bay, Mother now draped in its arms like a blushing bride. A very limp blushing bride, more like a lost comrade brought from the line of fire. The Courser shook its head, the tight onyx ringlets mussing themselves. _That’s a terrible thing to think about Mothe_ r.

L4-55 broke their concentration, and found its ankle rolling as it missed one step. A stressed sound tugged at the back of the Courser’s throat when its lost footing landed a painful pop on the stair below. Only brief pain, only enough to make the Courser twinge undetectably behind its shades. The rest of the trip down the stairs was spent peering over Mother’s limp form and at the slow and purposeful steps the Courser took. Humans sat at various places in the medical bay, all of them looking unimpressed at the synth pair as they entered. The Courser dared to turn the edge of their lip down, pressing only the slightest scowl into the stoic expression “Help me dress this one, sir.”

The human she had been facing turned his head and shot her the most filthy look someone with such a young face could muster. He raised a hand and whacked the Courser on the cheek with the back of it “How dare you order me, machine!”

L4-55 held its head where it had been left, looking the same direction the blow had followed through, the scowl pressed a little less inconspicuously that before. A moment of shuffling the new synth in its grasp had Mother draped over the Courser’s shoulder: one hand up to the communication device stuck in its ear, the other clinging tightly to the small of Mother’s back.

"Father, a low ranking medic attempted an assault on Mother. How should I respond?” The Courser was silent for a moment, the hand slowly separating from its earpiece “Of course, Father.”

The doctor knew the name, Mother, and feared that there was gruesome mirth in the steely eyes behind those shades. His eyes were glued to the Courser as is reverently laid Mother down on one of the clean hospital beds, its hands supporting the Institute Heir with practiced precision. A dark hand brushed the loud red hair from Mother’s pale face, the delicate touches seeming alien for the hardened synth. At an instant, the Courser snapped its head to look at the doctor, both hands coming to rest at its sides. The doctor blinked, and the synth was inches from his face, its hands wrapped around the crown of his skull. “Orders from the top, sir.” L4-55 wrenched its shoulders, twisting his neck until it heard the wet ‘snap’.

His body was left to fall loosely to the floor, suddenly the holder of all the humans’ gazes. L4-55 locked its shade hidden stare with another one of the resident doctors “Help me dress this one.”

The doctor all but tripped over herself to stand up. She saluted for a brief second, then lowered her hand and clutched it in the other “Of course!”

With an obvious, but small sneer, L4-55 allowed the doctor to approach it and Mother. The Courser was ridged as the doctor sidled up to the hospital bed. “So-“ the woman said around a whimper “-this is Mother?” her hands were flitting over the fainted form, straightening out the limbs and assessing it.

She let out a quiet, but thoughtful noise “She looks very young.”

L4-55’s voice took on the uncharacteristically meek tone that it had been using as of late “This one was created to be at the peak of their physical health. I believe early 20’s was what Father estimated.”

It cupped mothers cheek in its hand, a thumb tracing over the pale skin “Mother was only 30 when the bombs fell, so it is a very small change.”

A pensive look overtook the doctor’s face, deep brown eyes narrowing on the contact. She avoided bringing it up, and busied herself with retrieving the preserved vault suit from the cupboard stationed above the hospital bed. The blue fabric was so hideously gaudy, but incredibly soft between her fingers. She gave the suit a small testing tug before unfolding it “So, is she wearing anything under your jacket? Will I have to fetch undergarments for her?”

L4 nodded, hand slipping back to its side “Please do. I will remove the jacket while you do so.”

That statement left no room for argument, so the doctor left. A brief sigh left the Coursers round lips, and it placed its hand on top of Mother’s.

_Beautiful Mother_

L4 only let its mind drift for a moment, and possessive adoration seeped into the blank space its concentration abandoned. The hand fled to its side again, not daring to outstretch. A little glimmer of gold caught the Courser’s eye from inside the cabinet. It was snatched a moment later, reflecting gold light onto the red undertones of the Courser’s skin. L4 turned the hollow object over in its fingers, a thumb brushing over the smooth golden surface. Mother was married. The thought made an unfamiliar pang twist in the Courser’s chest. Pain. Almost anger. Something else. Something…

black and dreary.

Like nights in winter or the pupils of the dead man on the floor, lifeless and empty.

Sadness?

The Courser set the ring down before the compulsion to toss it against the wall overtook all sense. A hand combed through the dark curls on its head, making one side fluffier and frizzier than the other. Control yourself. You are not allowed to express. L4 clenched its nails into its palm and relished in the focus its mind drew to the stinging. Pain was simple, easy. “I see you found Mother’s wedding band, hand it here and I’ll put it on her.”

The doctor said, slightly more calm than before. The doctor set a pair of simple, black, cotton boy shorts and a thick cotton sports bra beside Mother’s still form. L4 slowly picked up the ring, running its thumbpad over the surface once before dropping it in the doctor’s open hand. Steely eyes tracked the doctor’s movements, the glint of the gold ring like a shining blade being slashed at the Courser. The object sliding up Mother’s finger was the final slice that dug home in its chest. L4-55 forced its nails deeper against the palm of its flesh, a snarling curse only barely more than an exhale across its lips. There was a moment’s worth of hesitation as the doctor lifted a hand to the front zipper of the jacket Mother was wearing. “She should be cleaned first, could you get me a damp washrag?” her voice was meek, the doctor flinching when she felt the steely gaze land on her.

L4 unclenched its fists, the marks from its nails stinging slightly “Of course, ma’am.” A wary look spread across the doctor’s face as she watched the Courser move across the floor, its unnaturally smooth gait and stiff back showing its immaculate construction and precise training.

And yet, the doctor noted, it was gentle with Mother, reverent and loving almost, it concerned her. She, however, wasn’t in the neurological area of medical expertise, so she tried to pay little mind to the fawning synth. The jacket on Mother’s body was tacky with the green goo that had covered her body, and posed a bit of a challenge to remove. A quiet grunt left the doctor’s nose as she hefted Mother’s weight up for a moment and wriggled the stick jacket off her shoulders. The rest peeled off with an almost nauseating, slick noise. The sound of entrails being sloshed around was what it reminded her of, and anything that reminded her of her time of the surface made her wince. The doctor jumped, sloppy jacked falling to the floor in a wet pile when the Courser tapped her on the shoulder. “I brought two, as Mother seems to be quite-“ it paused for a moment, brows furrowing and dipping below the rim of its glasses “-sticky.” The doctor nodded her thanks and took the washrags from the synth’s grasp.

The goo that was caked to Mother’s body was, thankfully, water soluble, and wiped off cleanly with minimal effort. The process was painfully awkward for the doctor, but she continued with professionalism, despite the red blooming on her neck and ears. “Okay-“ the word was just more than breathed, as the doctor had been holding her breath “I’ve never seen a synth so… plush.”

The Courser nodded once “Mother was made to replicate the original, and the original was a rounder lady than most of the commonwealth rabble.”

The rest of the dressing process went just as awkwardly as the cleaning had, the shorts getting stuck around the knees, the bra twisting and refusing to fit, it was a mess. To the shock of the doctor, the one piece suit went on easily, not even a stutter in the ancient zipper. “Mother is ready for transport. I will take it from here.” L4 droned, hands sliding under Mother’s back to haul her up.

A crack of blue energy ripped through the air, the edges of the white sheets now tinged a plasma burnt navy. L4-55 appeared on the surface, amidst the collection of M7 units sent to scout the area. “All it peaceful for now, L4-55. We may begin transport on your orders.” A shorter M7 unit piped up, its voice a bit deeper than the usual synth “Shall I send divide into a scouting party and escort party?” L4-55 glowered down at the short synth, its eyes, silvery and sharp, peering over its shades “You may find refraining from presuming any orders in your best interest.” There was that Courser attitude. The M7s fell into two lines astride the Courser. Voices hushed as L4 turned Mother around in its arms and draped Mother like a bride in its grasp. A wince crawled over the Courser’s sharp features, and it stumbled slightly on its ankle. “If you’re hurt, I will gladly carry Mother.” L4 couldn’t pinpoint who the voice cane from, but the lightly pressed snarl it cast left no room for the owner to stand out. There was a moments hesitation, the wounded limb being set down gingerly as a test. No pain, only a slight tension across the skin, L4 was fine in its own mind. The group began to move out, steps falling into a practiced pace. The long and bleak road to the vault lay ahead of them, and a trail of enemies would lay behind them.


	4. A long ways in a short day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sect is has moved out, and Mother is in transport back to Vault 111.

“I wish we had a radio. Time passes a lot faster with music.” An M7-90 unit all but whined as it trudged along.

  
The Courser peered over its glasses at the speaking unit, steely eyes fixated on the way the M7’s hands flitted at it spoke. The same M7-90 whipped both its hands (and thankfully not its pistol) about regaling a story of the time it had picked up Silver Shroud radio while on break.

  
“Silver Shroud?” another M7 queried, breaking formation and moving over to chat quietly with the first as they walked “Is that a disease?”

  
L4 quickly lost interest in the babbling going on between the two, finding its attention being drawn back to the ankle that had been injured earlier. It seemed every other step was a glancing pain up the leg and into the knee, and Mother’s weight didn’t help. But Mother had to be transported, as the unit was in lockdown, and L4 would be damned if they let another unit carry the Institute Heir. At least, the Courser thought, until they met the rounded edge of a littered tin can and found themselves rolling forward, Mother toppling from their grasp. L4 landed with a heavy ‘thunk’ on the rounds of its palms, a pained grunt leaving its throat. Pain was lost on the Courser, and panic filled its chest, it didn’t see where Mother had landed. Steely eyes melted over the surroundings, looking more of a baby blue against the bright Commonwealth sky. A hand invaded the Courser’s vision, and its eyes slowly trailed up the appendage.

  
“It is only my personal opinion, L4-55, but Mother’s transport should not be delegated to a damaged unit.”

  
L4-55 moved so quickly that the other unit had wondered if the Courser teleported into a standing position.

  
“Designation and function. Now.” The Courser grit was rearing its head in L4, and it made the unit easily agitated.

  
The synth was the same one who had caught Mother earlier, the same one who had touched Mother as the Heir toppled into consciousness. It angered L4 to see the unit touching Mother again.

  
“M7-97. First ranking scout in the M7 line.”  
The Courser looked over the synth. Strapping, strong, powerful and sturdy looking limbs. L4 gave a disheartened sigh, and nodded.

  
“Keep pace and mind your cargo, or I will see to it that you are recycled for organic material.” L4 was bitterly harsh towards the M7 unit, nearly spitting acid with each venomous syllable.

  
M7-97 nodded sharply “Of course.”

  
The courser was half hobbling as it continued down the path, white suit now torn slightly and the nasty color of Commonwealth filth. A few of the M7 units offered to keep the Courser’s arms over theirs, to help relieve pressure on the wounded ankle, but the Courser only snapped at them. L4 kept a heated stare locked on M7-97 and Mother, noticing that the male synth kept its charge bundled in its arms like a sleeping child. A hiss grew at the back of L4’s throat, and it nearly had the Courser lunging to grab M7-97’s. One of the synths stopped their chattering, neck twisting almost unnaturally far to the side, and staring at a section of thick shrubbery.

  
“Movement detected.”

  
A second synth looked at the same area with just as much intensity “Hostile?”

  
L4 took the rifle from its back, and, a bit foolishly, gesticulated with the barrel “You three investigate, you and you-“ the rifle whipped around and pointed at a the set that had been chatting earlier “-check over there, the rest will continue forward. I will hang back a bit and be sure nothing follows.”

  
The Courser commanded an air of respect, especially when pointing a gun at its underlings. The synths scurried off in their aforementioned directions. There was silence in the group, L4-55 balancing the tip of its finger gingerly on the trigger of the laser rifle. A few distant shots of laser fire alerted the group, all keeping keen eyes on the three eastward scouts. Steely eyes picked over every detail around them.

  
The unmarked path, meaning no other beings had migrated through this area since he last rainstorm. The absence of voices outside of their group, and the faint smell of fire and rotting meat coming from the east.

  
Fire and rotting meat.

  
Rotting meat.

  
“Shit. Units! Draw back!”

  
There was a trumpeting in the distance, like the howl of one of the Commonwealth mutts that the doctors would sometimes bring in and raise, but… weird. It sounded like its throat was swollen almost shut, but its sound still boomed. A flash of green in against the brown forest backdrop called L4’s attention.  
“Move units! Now!”

  
The two that had searched westward flanked around M7-97 and Mother, pistols raised and moving at a rapid pace. One of the three from the east tripped on a small outcrop of metal, snagging fabric and skin as it did so. Its cry broke the trampling sound of boots on the earth, and the same trumpeting howl responded. The injured unit pulled its leg away from the rusted snare, hobbling slightly as it tried to run.

  
Snap.

  
A twig broke close behind the injured synth. It turned, petite hands shaking and big green eyes pricking with fearful tears.  
“Oh, God.” Its voice was little more than a squeak.

  
The large animal behind it was huffing, looking at the synth with both malice and confusion. It took a step closer, giant paws and ugly fat head giggling as it did so. Its beady black eyes caught movement over the synths shoulder, a red light pointing directly at it.

  
It lunged.

  
The synth cried out shrilly, arm being wrenched from its socket as the ugly green dog shook its massive head back and forth. L4 made to bolt at the hound, rifle held more like a bat above its head, but that damned ankle faltered again, and it was falling towards the ground. It never hit. There was a blinding blue flash, followed immediately by the sound of thunder. The dog dropped the synth for a moment, only to be startled by the sound of static cracking in the air just behind it. All at once, it felt pain, and then nothing. L4 stood behind the downed hound, rifle raised to strike again, and panted over the body.

  
“Deliverance squad rep-“ it tapped the communication device in its ear “-Deliverance squad reporting. Emergency relay requested for unit L4-55 and..-“

  
“M7-91.”

  
“-And unit M7-91.”

  
The Courser dropped to its knees, and hooked the synths dead arm over its shoulder. A cry broke from the synths lips as it was hauled up. The way the light hit the two and the shimmering blood spurts, the Courser looked like a spirit of shade and death as it loomed over the injured unit.

  
“Congratulations, Unit M7-97-“ the Coursers voice was filled with resignation “-you have been promoted to Courser Cadet in my absence. Continue on the path and turn on your location features. As you do not have a relay chip, the institute will keep you on watch and send out a higher ranked Courser if you need transport.”

  
M7-97 only realized it was clinging perhaps a bit too tightly to Mother when he heard the air forced from the Heir’s lungs.

  
L4 shot the new Courser a filthy look “You are holding the future of the Institute, do not fail.”

  
L4 was standing now, the M7-90 synth leaning heavily on it. Then, almost as if they had exploded, they were consumed with blue light, and disappeared. With their disappearance, the air around the synths seemed to be much more relaxed, and danger seemed to be far away. The 10 remaining units all tapped the side of their communication devices, a small blue, blinking light now flashing on each. Except for M7-97, who was still holding Mother tightly against their chest, and Mother itself who was not fitted with one.

  
“Courser Cadet M7-97. I like it.”

  
“Congratulations.”

  
Similar tones of approval and praise were murmured through the sect, all directed at the new Courser. ’97, of course, puffed their chest a little and tried to stand taller.

  
“Thank you.” ‘97’s voice was oddly monotonous and rough as they tried to use the commanding tone of a Courser “Let’s move out.”

  
93’ took point again, flanked diagonally on each side until a lopsided diamond formation was created behind it. The group continued forward, pace steady, and eyes wide. The sun had arced high in the sky now, and the white of their uniforms stuck out blindingly against the filthy brown that was the norm of this putrid aboveground world.

  
“How do the humans live up here? Its… awful.” ’93 said aloud in its low and gruff voice “Maybe there should be more bombs to just… make everything start over.”

  
The petite ’94 spoke up now, bumping their elbow against ‘93’s shoulder in recognition “It looks like some of the wreckage is making it harder for humans to start over. Maybe we should invite them back to the Institute. I think the doctors would love more hands around to tend to little things, especially when the Gen-1’s are on their way out.”

  
A few thoughtful hums broke the group, resonating in harmony as though they’d practiced it.

  
’99 laughed at the sound “It sounded like we were singing just then. Man I really wish we had a radio.” It was swaying from side to side to some internal tune.

  
Forming a slight sway of their own, ’95 hummed a simple bass note. ’99 joined in just a bit lower, and complimented ‘95’s voice. The pair switched notes with precision that must have been practiced prior, the way their hummed notes bounced off each other but never clashed could not have been a coincidence. Only the two joined in the little fit of humming, but that was all they needed really. ‘ 97quirked an eyebrow at the pair “Why are you two acting like that?”

  
Both ’95 and ’99 looked back at the Courser, little smiles on their faces “We’re friends. The doctors called us ‘in love’ but that only means really good friends from what they said.” It was ’99 that spoke up first, prodding their partner in the side with the butt of their pistol.

  
“Mmhmm, and we’re dreamers too, some of the many that the doctors have been fussing over. Apparently were almost human. Neat, right? Kind of like Eve.” ’95 was playfully swatting away the other’s arm.

  
’97 vaguely remembered a unit being created and named Eve after the death of its DNA host. That synth had gotten married to the DNA host’s husband, adopted her son, and only recently had a child of their own.  
“Neat. right. You’ll have to excuse me for being so short, I’ve got a headache.”

  
’93 spoke up again “This place seems to have held up a little bit better than some others. Look, non-hostile life. Maybe there is hope for the surface.”

  
The group followed the stare of the synth.  
“Dogs!” ’97 blurted out in its low voice, bouncing Mother in its grasp a little as it stepped a little bit livelier.

  
M7-97 _loved_ dogs.

  
A pack of lovely brown and black dogs were stretched out in the shade of an old gas station’s awning, their pointy ears high and letting out the heat of the day. The synths all said short words of praise at the dogs as they walked by, congratulating the fluffy animals on being ‘The most pretty and adorable dogs they’d ever seen’ completely unlike the nasty green dog-like creatures they’d encountered earlier.

 "We should stop by here on the way back and pet the dogs.” The new Courser mumbled, shrugging both its shoulders and Mother as it did so. It wasn't often the synth found something to distract itself from its chronic headaches.

  
There were quiet agreements between the sect, but they all returned their attention to the task at hand.

  
“Sanctuary hills. This is where Father and the first Mother used to live… I bet it was pretty before the bombs fell.”

  
“Do you think Mother ever had a human name, besides Mother? She couldn’t have introduced herself as Mother to most humans, right?”

  
M7-97 remembered an offhanded comment by L4-55 white they waited on Father’s arrival outside bioscience “I believe the first Mother’s name was Nicole, and she had Father’s last name.”

  
’93 fell back to look over the Courser’s shoulder and at Mother’s inactive self “Nicole Spencer. It… it suits Mother more than Mother, don’t you think? It looks too… young.”

  
M7-97 looked down and gave the inactive synth a long look “I think Mother is an outstanding name for this unit.”

  
The chitter of bugs could be heard in the houses as the synths walked the streets outside, and it would have made the midsetting sun and the cooling air peaceful, had they not been the size of cats. The group seemed to be unimportant to the bugs, however, as they passed by one radroach with glowing plates and it hardly moved.

  
“That’s the path up ahead and off to the side.” ’90 said, shouldering in the general direction.

  
“That might be the path, but what hot Hell is that? Is it a human?”

  
Whatever the lumpy, bumpy, and sticky sounding creature was, it turned hot yellow eyes on the group.

  
It shrieked, and echoes of similar voices came from all around them.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was kind of mismashed together and then stepped on like bubblegum. Its 4:30 a.m. its biut to be riddled with mistakes. I will be editing this chapter later. Either way, I hope you enjoy seeing some more of the synths interacting and getting a bit more fleshed out. 
> 
> I am 100% on board for an M7-90 unit based singing group.


	5. The monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The units have been spotted and surrounded by... things... smelly, grey, almost human things. 
> 
> What are they..?

The screaming.

  
 _The screaming_.

  
The creatures mobbed around the synths, their vaguely humanoid bodies convulsing as though they only had minor motor skills. Top halves lopping about, jaws wide and gnashing, strange glowing eyes, unfocused but also somehow boring into the soul. The closest stepped away from the group, and something wet fell from its mouth.

  
“Oh my God. That’s a _hand_ , they’re hostile! Open fire!” M7-97 was the first to unsheathe their pistol, battling heavily with the recoil while trying to balance Mother on their shoulders.

  
The synth on point, ’93 took the brunt of a charging attack, landing hard on their back with the ugly creature gnawing on their forearm. The unit shrieked and levered the teeth from its skin with the barrel of its pistol, leaving the monster viciously chewing and shaking the weapon back and forth. A shot fired off and the monster’s head was no more, now just a spray of grey mush and a stain on ‘93’s torn white suit. ’95 had busted the jaw of another monster with the butt of their pistol, and in blind fear, they relentlessly stomped its head into the pavement. The move was tactless and time exhaustive, but the adrenaline pumping in their veins and making their vision red said stamping it would make it just as dead as shooting it, and the unit didn’t trust its shaking hands to shoot straight.

  
“The hell are these!?” ’98 was all but whimpering, picking off targets with shaky hands and watery eyes “Why are we going to leave Mother in a place like this!”

  
Another creature all but threw itself on ’93, smelling the already open wound on the synth. A nearly club hand, tipped with long filthy nails dug into the synth’s short hair and yanked the wounded synth’s head back.

  
“We have to run or we’l-“ M7-97 was overtaken by the wet, gurgling cry of one of their own.

  
The monster on ‘93 had driven its teeth into the synth’s neck, and began tossing its head back and forth, the sound of ripping fabric and ripping flesh melding with the weak gurgling. ’94 dropped to their knees beside the monster and tried to bodily remove it, fingers unforgivingly digging into the stinking flesh of the abomination. There was a ‘crack’, and the creature released its jaw from 93’. Ripping flesh and the smell of stomach acid melded with ozone and blood, the monster’s entrails dripping from the hole ’94 had torn open in its stomach. ’94 heaved the body to the side, filthy and dripping hands lifting the ‘93’s head onto their lap. The pistol fell from the new Courser’s hand, clattering into a spreading puddle of gore. Every fiber of the Courser’s body wanted to fall to a knee from the overwhelming sights and smells. The overwhelming anxiety, the overwhelming grief. The world was so _fucked_.  
There was so much blood. How could they leave Mother here.

  
“Everyone run.” ‘97’s voice was drowned out by the sounds of lasers blazing, flesh sizzling, and the sickly bubbling sound coming from the dying synth.

  
’94 wrapped their hands around ‘93’s throat, trying to stave the slowly oozing mess seeping up between their fingers. They were weeping, now pressed back by ’98 and ’99, both giving cover fire. It wasn’t enough. There were ten… nine of them, and these things kept flooding from the houses.   
’97 secured Mother with one arm, the other franticly trying to grab at the now blood coated pistol. It was so slippery, drenched in the blood of another. They knew that synth. They had been forged only minutes after that synth, and now it was laying nearly dead with no hope of recovery.

  
“Take her and RUN!”

  
The new Courser turned the barrel of its gun at ’93, nearly a point blank shot to the head. ’94 turned their gore-splattered face to look at the new Courser, and the burning hot urge to attack ’97 nearly made them pull their pistol up. All of the synths felt ‘93’s life flicker out, and all looked to see what had done it. The barrel of ‘97’s gun was still fixated on the split skull. The sheer looks that had been cast made the Courser loose their grip.

  
“MOVE, NOW.”

  
’97 all but dumped Mother onto ’95 and ‘98’s shoulders, taking their pistols as it did so. The Courser had double wielded only a few times before, so their aim was poor, but these creatures were nearly on top of them. All they had to do was pull the trigger before they were tackled.   
At that, the sect dashed, ’95 and ’98 flanked on either side by ’94 and ’92. ’90, ’99 and ’96 were retreating slowly, picking off the abominations that advanced on ’97. The monsters seemed to be unstoppable, always pulling and scratching with their burning bites, tearing once pure white armor and previously unmarred flesh away from ‘97’s body. Even shooting them only seemed to slow them down. The air reeked with the thick stench of bile and rotted grey matter, the sounds of screeching and scrabbling feet clicking-.

  
 _Clicking_.

  
The power cells had run dry.

  
Any lesser unit would have run, an lesser unit would have turned tail and regrouped. Perhaps a smarter unit would have fled, but ’97 was a _soldier_. ’97 was a _Courser_ now.   
The synth slid their fingers from the triggers, now holding the pistols in a fashion much more like a dagger than a gun. '97 plunged the barrel into the skull of the closest monstrosity, the bone caving under the blow and the gun lodged tightly in the rotted brain.

  
It was stuck.

  
It was stuck and more were charging.

  
M7-97 dropped the free pistol, both hands now gripping lodged one. The pistol, and the body were heaved over its head, and careened into the chest of an advancing beast. The one the corpse had struck split its head on the pavement, and for a moment, all looked still.

  
“Two more. Only two more.” ’97 shook off the gore from their hands, deep breaths stinging against the bites riddled across its back and chest.

  
The last two were injured already, crawling slowly, gragging their broken bodies towards the synth. ’97 recalled dropping their own pistol, and sank to their knees, pushing aside chunks of meat to look for it. It was disgraceful, the nearly shredded synth was digging through the gore, only finding its lost weapon by the line-mate they had been the final end of. ’97 rested a hand on the slain synth’s chest, nearly gagging from the ‘splurt’ of blood the pressure of his weight pumped out.

  
“Brother.” It had seemed appropriate, something ’97 had heard scientists use about those they felt close to, those with blood relations.

  
It was often used along with the word ‘he’ and ‘him’, and ’97 decided that they would remember _him_ that the mission would succeed for _him._  
That _he_ would win for _him_.

  
The pistol was leveled with the closest monster’s head, and it rung out blue light and a near deafening ‘crack’. The first monster fell dead, and ’97 stood up to charge the last like they had done to… to _him_ …   
M7-97 was only partially aware that their eyes were watering, that they were shouting as they advanced on the last one. It wasn’t smart, and he realized that upon collision, but the synth tackled the monster to the ground. Whether it was done in fury, in a rage of guilt, or a sense of balance M7-97 was unsure; but after the monster hit the ground, He wrenched its head backwards by the scraggly hair on its scalp and bit down viciously on its throat, pistol butt smashing against the monster's temple. It was only a moment before he felt the muscles of its windpipe fold under the pressure, and the creature gagged from the inability to breathe. There were a few seconds of gasping, and flapping limbs. One stray flailing arm caught the synth over his right eye, digging into the flesh and leaving a ragged cut through his eywbrow.

That was the last blood this monster would _ever_ draw.

M7-97 bit down harder, feeling the putrid flesh give slightly under his incisors. He reeled back, sputtering and gagging. Underneath him, the creature stilled.  
“Godless monstrosities.” The words were shaky on his lips, the taste of the thing’s putrid blood still fresh on his tongue.   
All was silent now, and the high of fighting wore of quickly. ’97 was acutely aware of his injuries, the bites, the scratches, the chunk of his calf missing. And his headache, _his_ _headache_  struck him in full force, making his jaw clench to silence an agonized moan. M7-97 all but doubled over, accidentally knocking his head against that of the dead monster’s. The synth let out a low whine at the new pain, and rolled to the side, trying to find his footing. One hand rubbed furiously at the aching spots on his temples, the other still locked in a death grip around his gun.

He was alone. 

The team 

He had to check on his team.

  
“H-hello?” his hand had parted from his temple, activating the communications device in his ear “Are you okay?”   
“M7-97! You’re alive!” ’96’s voice was tired, breathy, but sounded unhurt “Mother has been Put back into cryogenics. We are prepared to start trekking back.”   
The Courser breathed a sigh, shakily standing up and starting towards the vault.  
He was hesitant to allow himself any kind of hope after the battle he’d just endured, but something told him he’d be okay for a little while.

 


	6. Never to return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In light of recent events, some of the symths are hesitant to leave Mother in the aboveworld. Some take smaller strides for her safety, some larger.

M7-95 pressed their hand against the glass of Mother’s cryopod, watching as the creamy flesh and bright red hair collected a sheen of spiky ice. She looked just about as lifeless as she was, frozen in there like little more than a cola in the icebox. Damn Father for making them do this. Mother didn’t deserve this. As much as ’95 wanted to look away, they were captured with bitter attentiveness to the woman, they synth, now frozen solid. It would have been easier to look away had her wide, hazel-brown eyes not been locked on the synth, their pupils grey and glittering with frozen tears. She had to be awake when they put her into the cryogenics. To Mother, this was the second time she’d been awoken only to be put back under. Nicole hadn’t survived the refreezing. When Institute scientists came and took Father from her, and shot her husband. ’95 tugged at their hair, brown and short, and clenched their fists in it “We can’t leave Mother like this, the real Mother died because of this thing springing a leak!”

  
They didn’t mention the fact that they would be leaving her just opposite of the first Mother’s dead spouse. How could they do that to her? They couldn’t imagine waking up one day, hundred of years from when they went to sleep, and seeing the one they loved dead. ’95 shook, only the slightest twinge of their shoulders, at the thought of seeing ’99 frozen and dead. Their fist met Mother’s cryopod with a resounding ‘thud’ that echoed through the catacomb like vault. ’99 came up behind them and did something they’d seen the humans do before. It was weird, and involved placing their mouth against the one they cared about, but now seemed like the time to use the humans’ strange method of showing affection. A gentle brush of lips on the back of ‘95’s neck had them making a weird noise. Like pain.

  
“What was that?” ’95 leaned back, pressed their body against their partner.

  
Partner, or that word the humans called them. ‘Boyfriends’. It didn’t sound much like that suited them, they were synths. They would have had to be boys.

  
“This plan is a mess.” ’95 spoke softly, turning and grabbing ’99 by the arm.

  
The former dragged their partner away from the group of m7-90’s, shuffling quietly into an off to the side bunkroom they had seen earlier. Once ’95 had pulled the both of them in, they shut the door, leaving them only to see each other in the faint emergency lights now that the hall lights were blocked out.

  
“We can’t leave her here, we have to get her out. We cant leave Mother alone, not in this messed up world. We have to take her back to the Institute, or somewhere other than this crypt.” ’95 was shaking, bundling their partner in their arms and quivering with emotion.

  
“I feel bad. Its… its like those hollow eyes the things had, except inside me. I feel dark and-“ ’95 paused, searching the air around them for the proper word, hands clenching and unclenching in the fabric of ‘99’s uniform “-apprehensive. I feel bad, and it gets worse the more I think about leaving Mother here.”

  
’95 made another noise that sounded like pain, burying their face into ‘99’s neck “Do you remember when they were going to reset us? Because we had such a deep connection? I feel like that, except empathetic for Mother and not myself. We were afraid of losing each other, Mother is going to wake up and find she’s already lost everything.”

  
“She’ll still have Father.”

  
“She won’t know she does. If she wakes up and doesn’t assume that the first Mother’s son is still alive, she may never see Father.” ‘95’s jaw clenched with a sudden fear “What if she becomes resentful towards him? She might hurt us…”

  
Mother was built around someone who could plan, someone who lead in years past. Saved innocent lives with her knowledge and damned the guilty the same way. At that moment, ’95 felt very, very guilty.

  
“Leaving her here, in this wasteland, is wrong. What happens if Mother gets hurt? I saw the protocol for her ability to relay, and she wont know until she starts taking back escapees; she wont be know she can teleport until she-“ catches our kind and drags them back to slavery “-it might be too late! Even if she is a Courser, she’s young, she’s tiny, and she was made knowing emotions! Coursers do so well because they train above emotions!”

  
’95 had curled up into a ball, legs and arms around ’99, face buried deep in the crook of their shoulder.  
’99 rubbed small circles into their partners back “Mother was made to be strong, stronger than us by default, and she will have first Mother’s survival instincts; things we had to learn for ourselves.”

  
“She’ll still be alone.”

  
’99 almost made a quip about the sneers and jealousy from L4-55, and the attentiveness of M7-97 “She will be greeted by her Courser squad when she is ready. She won’t be alone for long.”

  
A soft shutter shook the curled up synth “She’s just so small. The Commonwealth will chew her up. She needs help, someone to-to beat up the bad guys. I’ve seen the footage from the surface, and-and… the men most in need of beating up are always enormous… Preston Sturges summed it up perfectly.”

  
’99 pushed their loved back to look them in the eye “Well then, Mr. Sturges, if you are ready to stand up, I think I know one thing we can do for Mother”

  
A short, bitter laugh left ’95, the concept of at least helping the Institute Heir easing it nerves “I like the sound of that. Maybe that’s my name now, like X0-69 has Mother, I’ll have Sturges.”

  
’99 beamed at their lover, A deciding on a name was something that took synths months or even years to decide on, and they’d helped their partner pick theirs “I hope you like fixing things, Sturges. If we want to keep Mother safe, we will need to be sure the same incident that took First Mother from us doesn’t happen again.”

  
It wasn’t much, but Sturges smiled at the aspect “A little duct tape can fix about anything.”

Far from the two lovers, M7-97 leaned his back against the cool metal of Mother’s cryopod; the sting of the monsters claws still biting at his nerves in spite of the Stim-pack injection he’d taken. The cold seemed to help dull the pain, however, and he wad thankful for the reprieve. Had he not been in the constant state of fighting a sob from the pain, he may have made an internal joke about ‘a mother’s touch’ like he’d heard the female scientists say from time to time. Highly illogical. Touching wounds usually made them worse, and yet here he was; pressing shallow, but open wounds to machinery that was 200 years old in an attempt to stave off the pain. Somehow, be it the cold or some placebo idea that being close to Mother made pain go away, the nagging feeling was fading from the forefront of his mind.

  
“I’m glad you’re safe.” She couldn’t hear him, but he still lamented his thankfulness.  
He looked over one shoulder, just catching the thousand yard stare of Mother’s frozen eyes.  
“Will you even remember us when you wake up?”

  
She wouldn’t, she wouldn’t remember anything past seeing her husband shot and her baby stolen. Unable to handle the weight of what Mother would thing when she came stumbling back into this world, M7-97 stood, and walked from the room.

  
“I hope you find a better life up here than we do in the Institute.”

  
It was insubordination for him to say that, even if he was alone. She might be a constant odds with the elements on the surface, but down there, down in the stark, sterile environment of the Institute, synths were slaves.  
A lot of things had been revealed to him as they’d traveled the land. One most importantly.

He wasn’t going back

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, needed to tie up some ends. Wasn't feeling very inspired for this one... Next one should start X0-69's plotline as I painfully drag her across the Commonwealth <3

**Author's Note:**

> Just bare with me, this is my first fic that I'm actually posting somewhere. Please point out mistakes, as this is a 4 in the morning can't sleep kind of project; its bound to be riddled with them. 
> 
> Thanks.


End file.
